About Love
by CookiesAndStorms
Summary: Emily reflects. Hotch sleeps. Hotly fluff.


**If someone asks me how I spent my summer, my only answer will be Criminal Minds. Like, twice a day. I am an addict, and I regret nothing. **

**This is just a bit of Hotly fluff, really. Set somewhere after season 4, not sure where. Sorry if the grammar/spelling/plot isn't really that well developed, but my inner-writer is mean and cruel and makes me want to write fanfic at three in the morning the day before I go on holiday for 12 days without a laptop, so I'm running on fumes here. Read and review, or just enjoy the story. **

**Also, the rating is because I am the most paranoid person in history. My apologies. **

**Soph xx**

He looked so delicate when he slept.

Emily Prentiss curled deeper into the fluffy duvet of the double bed, blinking as the first rays of pearly light began to filter through the curtains. Clothes littered the floor of their room- her dress, a purple pool of silk against the light flooring, his shirt abandoned by the bedpost, a stray sock crawling to hibernate in the darkness underneath their berth. From her place in their homemade cocoon, she could hear the beginnings of bird song, and the faint whirring of early-morning traffic, and the soft breath of the bed's other occupant.

Aaron Hotchner shifted in his sleep, murmuring incoherently for a second, before his breathing evened out and the flicker in his eyelids stilled. In the budding light, Emily quietly fought the urge to run her hand across his cheek; he rarely got enough sleep when they were on cases, and she was loathe to disrupt his dreams when he wasn't. Instead, she contented herself with tracing out his features, committing the moment to memory: the parting of his lips as breath passed between them; the way his hair settled on the pillow, in utter disarray after the night before; the skin at his brow, smoother than she'd ever seen it- for once, he was untroubled by the pressures of work and life and the universe. The soft dawn light hit his skin, and made it radiant; it illuminated the clusters of freckles, and the slight layer of stubble and the laughter lines that crinkled like paper at the edges of his eyes; everything that made him Hotch.

There was vulnerability in his sleeping form. It was curious to see him so exposed; even outside of his office, he would seldom relax completely, preferring to keep himself slightly guarded in other's company. She supposed it was the nature of the job- they all had their quirks, little secrets they longed to hide away from the world and keep shut in. But now, he allowed himself to be explored- he let her map him out, pinning down places that she felt were important, searching out hidden wonders deep within his personality, discovering hidden treasures and displaying them like trophies. She would probably never verbalize how that humbled her- how awed she was to be the one allowed to capture the essence of his mind. Then, a lot of things in their relationship weren't.

She yawned, laying her head back into the cloud she'd rested her head on, aiming to grab another hour's rest before they once again tackled the day, but the light danced over her closed lids, it's impatient, insistent feet refusing to leave her be, the rays tugging at her eyelids in an effort to keep them open. Resisting, she threw her hand over her eyes, a silent show of defiance, a protest she could call her own.

Something warm nuzzled her shoulder.

Her arm shifted back, and she looked down to find his cheek pressed against her chest, his nose touching the very edge of her collarbone, breath heavy against her shoulder. A hand had crawled to her hip, resting gently against her skin, warm and soft.

The smile had crept onto her lips before she was aware it existed.

It was when he did things like this that she knew he really loved her. He had told her- those three precious words had been casually thrown into conversation on their third date, whispered desperately when she was rescued from a hostage situation, and occasionally moaned when the lights were off and they were alone. She supposed she couldn't trust words anymore, after being a profiler and spending her time examining actions. What meant far more to her was the urgent sweep of his thumb across her shoulder when she dived back into his arms, covered in sweat and blood and bruises; was that smile he shot her when she walked into his office holding coffee, the one that was soft around the edges, unguarded and wonderful; was the passionate merge of lips when he kissed her, unafraid of who might be watching, concerned only with letting her know he was fine. Their love was rarely overt- neither of them really wanted to flaunt their relationship like it was some sort of cheap gimmick, because they were secure in what they had- that thread of gold connecting them. Instead, it ebbed and flowed- never quite appearing, but there in the background, flitting in between the tension of cases, the crack of the gun and the click of the handcuffs. Love was his hand at the small of her back, a quiet show of ownership she'd accept from no-one else; love was the way she caught his arm when he reeled away in agony, desperate to stopper his pain; love was the look on his face when he found her safe and well, where no words were exchanged, but a gentle compromise was found anyway. Love was when Aaron called her `his` by mistake, and when she kissed his cheek in front of Strauss, just because she could. Love was when she pulled him into the storage cupboard, and the feel of him against her hips. Love was the sheen of sweat across her skin and the way he said her name. Love was this.

Emily breathed in the cinnamon-y scent of his hair, still mussed from the eager pulls of her fingers the night before, and felt contentment spread out through her bones, lighting her body with an invisible glow only she knew was there, just below the surface, ready to spill out over his skin.

He stirred against her shoulder.

Lashes, darker than jet, flickered against her shoulder, before bleary brown eyes looked up and found hers. A soft smile danced across his lips.

"'Lo sweetheart." His voice was deliciously gravelly on a morning. She'd never admit how much she loved it. She'd never admit how much she loved a lot of things- that suit jacket he'd often wrap around her shoulder if she got cold; the flexing muscles in his forearms and the growl in his tone when he was angry; the desert dry sarcasm he deadpanned on a daily basis. She wouldn't admit she loved the way she felt about herself around him either; confident and beautiful and worthy. Denial was divine.

"Hey there." She muttered back, attempting to push a fallen piece of hair back from his forehead. He yawned again, before shifting upwards, resting his head next to hers on the pillow.

"Em." The whisper was soft, surprising her with it's gentleness. A hand moved from her waist to curl a piece of hair round his finger. "Mine." He smiled again, smoothing it back onto the pillow. "I love you." He smiled, the hand pressing against her stomach. "Both of you."

Emily Prentiss smiled, leaning down onto his chest, her breath evening out into a soft symphony as he stroked her hair.

Love was the baby growing in her stomach, with her Daddy's eyes and her mother's hair.

Love would be in the distant future, Jack holding her for the first time in the hospital and refused to let go, scared that the nurses would harm her. Love would the way her Daddy looked at her Mummy. Love would be when she left for college and saw her Daddy holding Mummy close.

But for now, The love between Emily Prentiss and Aaron Hotchner was sleeping soundly, together, whilst life shirled on around them.

**A/N This is a one shot. I will hopefully write more Hotly in the future, but Jesus, not now. Hope you enjoyed it. :)**


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